


Yes, Sir

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dom/sub, Gladio has it bad, M/M, authority kink, boot-licking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12889083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: When Gladio was young, he dreamed of kings.At the end of the world, Noctis and Gladio take the time for one last ceremony.





	Yes, Sir

**Author's Note:**

> This is partly a revision of a kinkmeme fill I made, partly a Gladnoct Week entry.

When Gladio was young, he dreamed of kings.

The kings who walked through Gladio's mind were fearless men in dark armor, bearing swords that clove through flesh and shattered bone, with eyes made bright with the souls of their ancestors, the magic of their blood. He dreamed of enemies with teeth of diamond and blades that broke at the hilt when a king placed his hand on the blade. He dreamed of gods bending at the knee. Of himself below, always below, basking in their radiance.

Now, all it took was a touch. 

Noctis Lucis Caelum, the king of light, whose magic hummed outward from the ring on his hand like a miniature sun in the darkness, stood against the door of the small room behind the Hammerhead garage and brushed a finger under Gladio’s chin. Gladio froze in the act of toeing off his boots, and all of his awareness narrowed to the spot where Noctis’ rough nail scraped at the stubble of his beard. 

Noct’s eyes had changed since his time in the crystal. They were still his, the same shape, the same long, dark lashes, but it was as though the crystal had chiseled into the core of him, revealed the flashes of the man Gladio had knelt to all those years ago, when he’d taken his formal oath as shield. 

Gladio had seen this look in King Regis’ eyes. In his father’s eyes. In his own reflection, when the days without Noctis stretched too long and he and the others talked about finding successors to wait for him, just in case. 

“The kings and queens of Lucis have always walked with death,” Gladio’s father had said to him, once. “It’s the duty of their shields to walk with them.”

Now, after all this time, Gladio finally understood.

“Your Majesty,” Gladio said.

Noctis smiled, and Gladio fell to his knees.

“Head down, soldier,” Noctis said. Gladio lowered his gaze to the floor, to his trembling hands on his thighs. The king placed a narrow-toed boot on Gladio’s shoulder, and it only took the slightest pressure for Gladio to bend. He slid his hands to the floor, and Noct only stopped pushing down when Gladio’s lips were scant inches from his other shoe. 

“You know what to do,” Noct said. The foot on Gladio’s shoulder shifted, moving towards the center of his back, as Gladio pressed his lips to the soft leather. Ten years in storage had taken the sting off the polish, and Gladio tried not to moan as he kissed and licked his way up the sides and over the arch of Noctis’ foot. He was making short, restrained noises deep in his throat, not quite a groan and not quite a gasp, and he stopped altogether when he felt Noct’s fingers card through his hair. Noct was bending over him, a foot on his back, a hand on his neck, and Gladio had never felt so hard in his life. 

“Go on, Gladio.” The grip on his hair tightened, and Gladio continued up Noct’s boot, risking a kiss on the bare skin just beneath the hem of his pants. Noct’s fingers teased through Gladio’s bun, tugging it loose. Gladio’s hair fell down either side of his face, framing the only piece of Noctis he was allowed to touch. 

“Enough.” Noct drew back, but Gladio stayed where he was, bowed over his knees. Noctis watched him for a moment, and snapped his fingers. Gladio looked up. 

“Good,” Noct said, and a rush of pleasure ran through Gladio’s skin. “Sit up, and don’t move.”

“Yes, sir,” Gladio said. Noct watched him, a familiar smirk on his lips, and Gladio added, “Your Majesty.”

When Gladio was upright, Noctis stepped closer, leaning over him to undo the buttons of Gladio’s Crownsguard uniform. Gladio was tall enough that Noct didn’t have to go on one knee until he reached the lower buttons, and he struggled to stay still, to prevent himself from touching Noct, or from helping him with the trickier parts of his uniform. He kept his hands at his sides, and when Noct yanked the jacket down his arms, he shivered hard enough that Noct could see. 

Piece by piece, Noct took Gladio apart, teasing him with quick, perfunctory touches as he dragged the grey and black shirt over Gladio’s head and whipped his belt free. He ran his fingers over a raised scar that curved along Gladio’s shoulder, a souvenir of a daemon attack three years after Noct disappeared. 

“This wasn’t here before,” Noct said. His brows furrowed, and he pressed down on another scar on Gladio’s abdomen, and another dangerously close to his neck. “Or this, or this. This one could’ve killed you.” He held Gladio’s neck lightly, but Gladio still couldn’t breathe, choking on the disapproval in Noct’s tone. 

“I never gave you permission to die,” Noctis said, and kissed him, hard and fierce. Gladio moaned into his mouth, and Noct snatched up his hands, placing them on his narrow waist. Gladio’s breath hitched when Noct’s knee dug into his groin, and wondered if he was going to come right there, in his barely-used uniform, only hours after watching his king step down from Talcott’s truck. 

“Your life.” Noct’s voice came out harsh and breathless, and he bit down on Gladio’s neck hard enough to bruise. “Isn’t yours.” He pushed Gladio down by the shoulders. “To throw away. Whose is it, Gladio?”

“Yours,” he whispered. 

“Louder.” Noct twisted a nipple, his other hand gripping Gladio’s throat. “Who does your life belong to, Gladio?”

“You,” Gladio cried. “Your Majesty, please, please sir, Your—“

“Who will you serve,” Noct asked, unbuttoning Gladio’s pants. “In the _light,”_ He pulled them down his thighs with a jerk. “Defend… in the _dark.”_

Gods, it was his oath. Noctis was reciting his oath as shield, the dry words Gladio had repeated when he knelt on the dais of the throne room before the king and his prince, his tattoo only days old. Gladio couldn’t stop shaking, hardly able to kick his shoes off as Noct laid him bare. 

“You,” Gladio said again.

Noct kicked Gladio’s legs apart. “You will be the king’s right hand.” The ring of the Lucii cast his face into dark planes of shadow and wavering blue light. “When the left hand falters.”

“Your life,” Noct shifted between his legs, and raked his nails up the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. “Is bound to the crown of Lucis.”

Gladio moaned lowly at the ghosting touch of fingers over his shaft, and looked up to see that his cock was achingly hard under Noct’s hand. 

“Who wears the crown?” Noct asked. 

“You do,” Gladio gasped. “Your Majesty.”

Noct smiled again, slow and predatory as a wolf, and Gladio shuddered. “Good. That’s right.” He rose. “Back on your knees, Gladio. We have all night.”

“Not like we have a proper sunrise these days, Your Majesty,” Gladio said, kneeling naked before his king. “Night’s all we have.”

“Don’t worry,” Noct said, and laid a hand on Gladio’s cheek. He tilted his face up to meet his steady gaze. “It’ll get there."


End file.
